Has His Reasons
by ncfan
Summary: If Thranduil doesn't want his son pursuing the captain of the guard, he has his reasons. Reasons that have nothing to do with her being "a lowly Silvan Elf."


I own nothing.

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><p>He is fishing so desperately for excuses that when she supplies the point of 'lowly Silvan Elf', Thranduil jumps on it. In the morning, when he is sober again and remembers the exchange, he cringes, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what one earth possessed him to give assent to <em>that<em> of all things. Wondering why Tauriel even said it doesn't last very long; Thranduil quickly comes to the conclusion that she said it to try to discern just how drunk he was last night. That's… sneaky. More sneaky than he would have expected from Tauriel. And evidently his drunkenness is becoming entirely too obvious; he'll have to take measures in the future, it seems.

(As much as it stings his pride, he resolves himself to apologize to her for that remark if ever there comes the opportunity. Thranduil is _not _prejudiced against the Silvan-folk, but also knows that drunkenness is no excuse for such a remark. More pragmatically speaking, Tauriel is captain of the guard, the nís who ensures that no Orcs or Spiders or other evil creatures pass into his Halls. Saying something so pointlessly and pettily antagonistic to her is _not _a wise thing to do.)

Nonetheless, he stands by what he said, in warning Tauriel away from Legolas. Thranduil knows that if he attempted to broach the subject with his son, the conversation would not end well. It pains him to admit it, but Tauriel is a bit more sensible than Legolas in these things, and more apt to listen—and Thranduil is more than a little worried of what could become of his relationship with his son, if he made his opinions on what Legolas felt clear. A father knows his son's heart, but he's not even sure that Tauriel feels the same way; better, all the same, to make sure where he stands on this entire mess.

Thranduil has his reasons, if he doesn't want his son's affection for the captain to grow into anything permanent.

Fëanor's line ended long ago, and red hair is indeed highly uncommon among Edhil, especially Silvan-folk, though it does not exist only in that single line, in Mahtan and his descendants, as some of the especially ignorant Mannish chroniclers like to claim. But uncommon it is, enough so that the sight of a red-haired Edhel is enough to make those around her look twice.

Thranduil remembers the first time he ever set eyes upon Tauriel.

There was just one settlement left in the south of Mirkwood near Dol Guldur six hundred years ago, when it could be said that Mirkwood's borders extended so far. They were a mixed community of Silvan-folk and Avari, Edhil who had never ventured beyond the Misty Mountains since the days of Cuiviénen, Edhil who had, in fact, barely left Cuiviénen at all. Thranduil was of the House of Elmo through his mother's side, and the House of Elmo does not forsake their kin, even after thousands of years. But these people had lost faith in the journey just at the sight of a mountain range, or had had no faith in it to start with. Thranduil has learned to have trust in their loyalty towards their kinsmen, towards him and his people, but still, he had little contact with that particular settlement. They were practically a tiny kingdom unto themselves.

But then, the darkness and its spawn spilled from Dol Guldur, as Amon Lanc, Thranduil's old fortress, was now known. Orcs and Spiders, Goblins in small numbers, and fell spirits. The spirits of Edhil who, when they heard the call of the Doomsman, chose to linger in Ennor as houseless spirits rather than go to the Houses of the Dead, were bound to the will of the darkness inhabiting the fortress. The last Edhil settlement near Thranduil's old capital was overrun, and all the inhabitants, barring a small number who survived and fled northwards into the dark woods, were put to the sword.

-0-0-0-

_Thranduil feels his heart twist in a mixture of anger and pity to see the ragged group of survivors and their haunted eyes. There are living quarters available deep within the Halls and outside of them; they will be housed there, of course._

_The survivors of the southern settlement are told to follow some of the guardsmen, who will take them to their new quarters, but a child, a small girl, hangs behind, bracing one hand against a pillar. She stares up at him with wide brown eyes, looking small and hungry and dirty._

_Her long, tangled hair is unmistakably copper-red._

_For one moment, Thranduil feels as though he's swallowed his tongue. He's seen hair that shade before, seen it on the heads of Edhil who bore the swords that slew his kin. They call that shade 'Kinslayer-red', with not a trace of irony in their voices._

_But after the moment passes, he gets back control over himself. He has seen others with red hair, other Edhil with red hair, even if he has seen few. And this child is one of his subjects. Alone. "You, child," he calls out to her. "Why do you not go with your parents?"_

_Thranduil has a feeling that he already knows the answer to his own question, and the way the girl violently shakes her head only confirms his suspicions. "Dead," she murmurs in her people's dialects of Silvan, and stares down at the floor._

_He slips out of his throne and crosses the floor until he comes to stand beside the girl, and rests his hand upon her shoulder. She stares up at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed, bloodshot; her nostrils are red and her lips look as though they've been bleeding recently, the result of being bitten, over and over again, to stem the flow of tears and sobs that could draw fell creatures to her. Thranduil smiles what he hopes is a reassuring smile down at her. "Come with me, then, child."  
><em>

-0-0-0-

Fëanor's line ended long ago. That accursed line is spent. Celebrimbor was the last; Sauron slew him, and he left no descendants that anyone knows about. The three red-headed sons, Maedhros and Amrod and Amras had no children, not even bastards as the Noldor of the First Age sometimes left. Curufin's wife remained in the Undying Lands. Celegorm lusted after Lúthien, and took no wife.

Maglor was married, it is true. Thranduil vividly remembers the Kinslayer's lady, Kinslayer herself, slain in Doriath. He feels as though, if Maglor and his wife had left any descendants, he would be able to recognize them though there had been a thousand generations between this girl and them. It is whispered that Caranthir was wed to a daughter of the Laegrim of northern Ossiriand, but no one can say what became of her after her husband's death, what became of her after the War of Wrath. Sometimes, Thranduil wonders whether she ever really existed.

It does not matter. Tauriel has no trace of the Noldor in her features, not their tall stature nor their overweening pride in the works of their hands. To look at her is to know that she is a Silvan Edhel through and through. She came to these Halls with no knowledge of Noldorin tales. Sometimes, Thranduil looks at her and wonders, as he knows others do as well, but he does not hold it against her. It's not like the nís can help her very hair color.

He still has to wonder, though, and fear what would become of any child of hers, any child of his son's by her, if the taint of Fëanor's blood was carried on in them, even remotely.

They say also that a nís who fights, a nís who sheds blood, can never heal others, can never bear children. They say that if she spills blood, the blood on her hands will close and poison her womb. This is considered common wisdom, and Thranduil has to snort at the term 'wisdom' being applied to it. This common wisdom is commonly held to be idiocy, propaganda spread by those who wish to keep nissi from fighting. But the life of a guard is often short, often ends violently. He does not wish for one second for his son to endure the pain of losing his wife. Thranduil has felt that pain. He would never wish it upon anyone else, let alone his son.

And they are fighting a war. There has been no official declarations, but Mirkwood fights a daily war against the darkness that has infected the land. Wars have casualties. There are many who disregard _this _piece of common wisdom, and not without cause, but it is held that it is unwise for Edhil to marry during times of war. The spouse you pledge to love until the world splits in two could be taken from you the day after your wedding; do you really wish to endure such torment?

Thranduil sighs, and raises a hand to his forehead to rub away the headache brought on by drink, and stress, and his son's foolish infatuation. He hopes that Tauriel will take a hint, that she will do nothing to encourage Legolas's affections. He hopes that Legolas will get over it. Legolas is his son, his beloved only child; Tauriel is a good person, someone that Thranduil respects (and dares say likes), for all that they often disagree over policy. He wants for this to all be over, for them all to still be alive, and still have something to say to one another.

No more burning bridges.

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><p>Nís—woman (plural: nissi)<br>Edhil—Elves (singular: Edhel) (Sindarin)  
>Ennor—Middle-Earth (Sindarin)<p> 


End file.
